Chapter 12: Jubiloso
"Momiji, did something happen to you yesterday? Ne, Momiji!"
He snapped out of his cliched reverie. Haru stood beside him. A little ways off, Kisa was actually talking to a couple of the girls in her class, including the one Momiji had defended a little while earlier. And she was smiling. Softly, in the background, one of Momiji's male classmates was singing, "Jr. high girls, jr. high girls, all for me..."
"Nani?"
Haru spoke very slowly, in exaggerated tones. "I said did anything happen to you yesterday."
"Ano...sore ha..." Momiji's hand automatically came up to rub the back of his neck. But he was grinning like an idiot, and he knew it.
Haru rolled his eyes, shoved his hands in his pockets and looked various expressions between angry and sad until at last Momiji asked, "Haru, what's wrong?"
Haru sighed deeply, the sort of sigh that reaches into your toes and drags out every ounce of pain, tension and frustration and packages it all up. "Rin. I don't get her...I don't know what she's up to, any of that. Every moment, it's complain, complain, complain. Her back hurts, she's hungry, she's tired, she feels sick. Sometimes it drives me crazy. And we don't seem to agree on anything! I don't know why, but when I try to get her to talk about stuff like...ah...feeding the baby..." (Momiji ducked his head and coughed into his fist) "...she doesn't want to discuss it. And everything, everything I do gets on her nerves. I can't discuss anything with her. And every day I wake up in the morning and find myself thinking, all of this is a mistake, I wish I could take it back, I'm not ready, she's not ready..."
It was not the moment to say, "I told you so." Even if it was, Momiji wouldn't have said it. Instead, he put a hand on Haru's shoulder and stood there silently, even when the bell had rung class in, and the halls were bare except for the two of them, until Haru finally lifted his head wearily. "Well," he said. And neither said any more about it for the time being.
Sometimes it was hard to see improvement in his students. In fact, even though he was very, very patient and never used an exasperated tone of voice, Momiji wondered how it was possible for them not to be able to detect the tonal battle that was raging in his ears.
He suppressed a sigh for the tenth time that day and redemonstrated on his own violin. "See, Suza, it's like this. All of your flexibility in the bow needs to come from your wrist and elbow, not your shoulder. Watch what happens when I try to do this the way you're doing it." He drew the bow across the strings, exaggerating the use of his shoulder so that the young boy could see what was wrong. "If you use your shoulder, the bow will cross the strings at an angle, instead of straight across. Try it again, kudasai."
And then there were days like this. Suza did not feel like trying that day. After "trying" for the third time, he put his violin and bow down and sat down in a chair, arms crossed, scowling for all he was worth. "Why do I even have to do this? The violin is a girly instrument. I don't even want to learn music; my parents are making me learn."
Momiji had been exposed to this situation before. Nevertheless, it did not make it any more enjoyable to go through. Inevitably, if he tried to force him to continue, he would go home and complain to his parents, and they would blame everything on Momiji. If he didn't make him shape up, he'd continue to be lazy and sloppy.
Ultimately, even though he couldn't believe it, some people were not meant to be musicians. But it was impossible to tell at this stage. Some children were just strong-willed, and needed to learn on their own. Some of those would become even better than those who had lessons from a very young age.
So Momiji knew that like it or not, he just had to let go and let live, and leave the choice up to his student and kami. He put his own violin and bow away carefully and sat in a chair across from Suza, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees so that his eyes were level with the top of the bent, scowling head. "Can you tell me why you don't want to learn music? Is it because it's not fun for you?"
Sulky silence for a minute. Momiji let it hang. Suza began kicking his feet. Finally, he said, "It's too much work. Learning all these notes is like trying to learn English or something. I thought music was supposed to be easy."
"But music is a different language. When you listen to something by Beethoven or Schubert, and the music swells, and all the instruments harmonize together, doesn't that make your heart sing?"
"Yeah..."
"Then you understand music. That's a start. The next step is being able to communicate to others with music. That's why you need to learn notes, bow placement, and dynamics."
"I just wish," Suza blurted out, "I just wish I could play the music, the way it sounds in my head, or how I hear other people play it, and not have to worry about reading music and all that stuff."
Something clicked in Momiji's head. Suza was bowing wrong on purpose. It wasn't playing that was the problem; it was reading the notes. He decided to do an experiment he had never tried before.
He got up, put a CD in the classroom player, and turned up the volume. From the speakers came the sweet tone of Bach's Minuet in G. Momiji keenly watched Suza out of the corner of his eye. At first, the boy stopped kicking, his head still down. Presently, he started tapping his feet to the music, and eventually he lifted his head, listening and concentrating, his left hand fingers finding the positions of the notes in midair.
The piece ended, and Momiji picked up Suza's violin and bow and handed them to him. "Try it," he said. Suza looked astonished. "But...without music...how can I?"
"Just try it," Momiji said. "The first note is a D."
Hesitantly at first, and then becoming more and more accustomed to the music, Suza found the notes on the violin, picking them out by ear. Then he tried it again, this time more confidently. Again and again, until he had the bowing, phrasing, and notes all perfect. Momiji smiled. There were some musicians like that. He wasn't one of them, but he admired those who were. True, Suza would eventually need to learn to read music, but for now, inspiring his interest was the important thing. You can only become good at music if you love it. If you don't, no matter how perfectly you can play the notes, you are not a musician.
He was still thinking about this when he arrived at Michiko's house later on that evening. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but then dropped it. For some reason, he couldn't breathe. Couldn't even think, really.
Today, he was going to talk to her father, one on one. Based on his previous experiences with her father, he was extremely uneasy.
He was saved the effort of knocking when the door suddenly slid open, revealing Hime-san, who eyed him from behind stern eyeglasses. "Well, Sohma-san, will you please come in?"
Momiji bowed his head as he entered the genkan, taking off his coat, and placed his shoes on the getabako. Inside, he looked around. This place lacked something that he couldn't quite define. The washitsu was a little bare, with few articles of furniture, even for Japan, and an understated tokonoma with a picture of the Eiffel tower hanging from the wall and a picture of a woman whom he correctly assumed was Michiko's mother. He followed Hime-san into a Western-style room, where there were abundant bookshelves, two office chairs, a desk, and a small fountain. The older man took a seat, evidently much at his own ease, and leaned back, steepling his fingers. After a minute, he gestured to Momiji to sit down across from him. He did so, somewhat awkwardly and sat stiffly. He could have sworn there was a twinkle in Michiko's father's eye.
Hime-san gestured to a decorative alcove set up in the wall. "Did you notice that katana? Beautiful, isn't it? Made in the Edo period, one of the finest specimans. It can cut easily through wood or bone."
Momiji fidgeted very uncomfortably in his chair. The other man regarded him in silence.
"So, what is it, Sohma-san? You sounded a little nervous when you called over the phone and said there was something that you wanted to discuss with me. Well, don't worry, boy, you can tell me, whatever it is." Once again the man's eyes drifted up to the shining katana.
Momiji officially broke a sweat. Hime-san leaned forward and forced their eyes to meet. "You came here to ask me if you could date mon fille, right?"
"Ha...hai..."
Once again he leaned back, still a calm expression on his face. "Hmm, I'm not sure if I can agree to that too quickly. She is my only child, after all. I swore to mon femme that I'd take care of her forever."
"I can take care of her, too!" Momiji's voice suddenly burst out, startling them both. Hime-san actually was a little impressed when he noticed the heated flush rise on the young man's face. "I swear to you, I'd never hurt her, and I'd do all I could in my power to keep others from hurting her. I like her; I truly do. If I didn't, I wouldn't be willing to..." He broke off suddenly, thinking about the pain in Freia's eyes when he had told her he couldn't care for her. Even then, he'd known that if there was someone to take Tohru's place, it would be someone who had worked her way into his heart because she was herself, not because she reminded him of Tohru. "Listen, sir, Michiko isn't a child. She knows how I feel about her, and I know she feels the same way. Please give me a chance to make her happy. I won't disappoint you, I promise." He bowed his head, waiting for the verdict.
Hime-san was silent for another minute. Two minutes. Suddenly Momiji heard something he wasn't expecting. Very, very quiet laughter. He risked it and peeked. Hime-san's head had fallen backward over the top of the chair, and he was shaking in silent laughter. After a minute, he looked back at Momiji, the hinted twinkle rather pronounced and the face in a full out grin. Then he assumed an "office" stance, sitting up straight, hands clasped on table, serious expression. "And you promise you'll take care of her?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure you can keep that promise?"
"Absolutely."
"Well then." He stood up, offered a hand to Momiji. He took it awkwardly, standing in his turn. "You are welcome to date my daughter, with the stipulation that you are to be the ultimate...do you understand me, Sohma-san?...ultimate gentleman in her presence. Is that understood?"
Momiji finally started to smile. Suddenly he could see where so much of Michiko's personality came from. "Hai!" He didn't have any problem being the ultimate gentleman.
After sharing some sake (which Momiji, honestly, approached with severest caution), Hime-san opened the office door and gestured for Momiji to go through. "Michiko is out in the practice room. If you'd like, you can give her the good news."
"Hai! Arigato gozaimasu!" He could hardly keep from running in the direction Hime-san pointed him.
Outside the room, he halted suddenly. From within came the beauty of Schubert's Impromptu No. 4. Eager as he was, he closed his eyes for a minute, soaking in the sound. When the piece had ended, he slid open the fusuma, quietly. Michiko's back was to him; she was penciling in some notes on the music in front of her. He crept up behind her and kissed her on the cheek. She whipped her face around so suddenly that their noses almost collided; then she laughed. Her eyes were the merry color of clovers. "I take it my father gave you his permission to date me, then?" she asked.
"Yup!" His face was practically splitting from all the grinning. She laughed again. "I know; he told me it was okay on the date you walked me back from your apartment. I'm sorry, but he insisted on giving you a hard time."
"He took full advantage of it," Momiji said.
"Ah, can't blame him," she replied. "After all, he's only got one chance to do it, he may as well enjoy it."
"You both...making it hard on me like that..."
She grinned in glee. Oni-Michiko was having a hay-day. "You should be able to tell by now, right? Pere and I are both unrepentant mischief-makers, and partners in crime."
"Yeah, I kind of got that. What music are you working on now?"
"Well, I just finished the Schubert Impromptu, and now I'm bracing myself for this fugue. I swear Bach's trying to kill me..."
He looked over her shoulder at the music on the piano. "Seven sharps, huh? What in the world?"
"I know, if he'd only gone with five flats I would've been fine, but Monsieur Bach decided, 'Noooo, if I'm going to write for every key in the Well-Tempered Clavier, I may as well have my performers suffer, as well'. Personally, I prefer the fugue in E minor. It's so unusual and interesting..."
The phone out in the hall began to ring. "Shall I get it?" Momiji asked.
"Iie, daijobu desu." She stood up and eyed the piece vindictively. "I'll be back," she said, and went to get the phone. Of course, since this was all said in Japanese, there really was no pun intended.
A couple of hours later, regretfully, Momiji left, bidding his lady adieu with the proper kiss on the hand. She waved him off, smiling and blushing at the same time.
He decided to drop by Haru and Rin's place on the way, to see how they were doing.
He climbed the stairs to their apartment and was about to knock on the door when he heard angry shouting from within. He paused, hand still in the air. Although he couldn't make out all the words, he could tell they were in a heated argument. Rin's voice was hysterical, sometimes peaking in a screech or scream, sometimes sobbing. Haru's shouting was so uncharacteristic that Momiji wondered if he had slipped into "black" mode.
He felt the elated feeling that had been soaring his his chest since Hime-san had said yes fade out, to be replaced with heaviness. The situation seemed worse than he had expected. Even though he knew a lot of it was the crazy pregnant hormones Rin was dealing with, he still felt that there was a good deal more tension in the situation than there should be.
After standing there a little longer, he decided it would make matters worse if he were to interfere and left for home.
The second concert was coming up so rapidly that Momiji felt overwhelmed. He was also beginning to feel a little nervous, working over his solo material for the Brahms over and over, finessing details, bringing out the greatest range of emotion possible. Often, he and Michiko met together outside of rehearsal to go over the music together. And also to talk...and to walk together...and eat together...and hold hands. Even though he hadn't kissed her yet, he was willing to wait a little longer, preferring to draw out to the maximum each level of touch before progressing to the next. Michiko didn't complain, but Oni-Michiko did, loudly, inside her head.
Why won't he just kiss you? It's not like it's that big of a deal. Iie, but this is the way he wants to take things, and I'm going to respect that, she argued back. Usually it's the girl who has to hold back; seriously, what's wrong with him? It's not like Pere's going to complain, even if you go a little too far...
Shut up! Momiji isn't that sort of person. I don't want to take things faster than he does. It's okay, I think we'll be together for a long time.
While all this was going on, of course, Michiko was smiling and laughing with Momiji, who was blissfully unaware of the chaos inside her head. Even if he'd known, he would've just laughed, and she knew that.
Shi-san was getting agitated during rehearsals as they approached the concert date. More than once, he shouted things to the brass or winds like, "It's 'con moto ma no troppo'. What's so hard to understand about that?"
Time was so full that Momiji completely forgot when the application and examination deadline passed for the colleges he was considering. Jakob would have been horrified, but on the day when he woke up and realized it, he knew that he wasn't meant for the sort of college that would pigeonhole him up with a bunch of business majors or science majors, with students who lost their souls among examinations and textbooks. He'd rather be a starving artist than a fat CEO. Not that he had to face starvation yet, though; he wouldn't have to for a while, either. That, at least, was a comforting thought.
There was one thing about the concert that bothered him. Tohru, who had been eager to attend this concert, regretfully phoned him a week before and told him that Kyou had come with a nasty case of pneumonia. She was determined not to leave his side until he was better. Momiji, who really did want to see her, nevertheless respected the fact that she took illness very seriously, given her past. He told her not to worry, that they'd see each other eventually, and he'd send her a "year of the Horse" nengajo. She told him she'd send him one, too.
"But Yuki is going home for the New Year's break, ne? You'll all get to see him, isn't that great?"
"Hai...demo, you're the one I want to see, Tohru-kun."
She noted the longing in his voice, now much deeper that the last time she had heard it during the summer. "Well, I'll tell you what. I'll make a special trip out before my wedding in April. Is that okay?"
"Hai!" Actually, a plan was beginning to work in Momiji's brain. At last, the dream he'd told Tohru about would begin to come together.
The night of the concert, he got dressed at the concert hall in the new tuxedo he'd bought. Of course, he needed to look sharp tonight. He was first chair violinist, after all.
Michiko appeared behind him in the mirror as he was adjusting his bow tie. She laughed at him. "You're really bad at this," she said, and retied it. As she straightened it to perfection, he noticed how lovely she looked in her floor-length, high necked black velvet dress. Silver embroidery lined the Chinese collar and decorative flowers. He caught her chin in his hand and turned it up to look him in the eye. "You look beautiful," he said, absolute honesty ringing in every tone of his voice. Then he started to notice the cute way her lips parted, forming a small bow. She noticed his gaze and all thought of breathing vanished. Oni-Michiko was singing, "You wanna kiss the girl..." For once, she didn't argue.
The door behind them slammed open, and they broke apart, flushing. "Sohma-san, are you ready?" asked the violinst who had entered.
"Hai. I'm coming out now," he said. He put an arm around Michiko's waist as he escorted her out and over to backstage. "Later," he whispered in her ear. She blushed as red as he had ever seen her and nodded. Backstage, he readied his instrument, and she prayed that the tuner had gotten around to the piano. Then, at a sign from the back-stage director, all the rest of the musicians began walking on to stage. He stayed behind, trying to breathe, waiting for his turn. Crap, does the conductor go onstage first, or the soloist? His answer came when the stage director signaled, "You're on" to him, and he, with Shi-san a little behind him, strode onto the stage.
The stage was a place where you felt vulnerable, like a biological specimen being surveyed under a microscope. He dismissed such feelings and concentrated. This was about the music: not where he was, not who was out in the audience, but about sharing passion, angst, sorrow and joy through wordless sound.
He shook hands with the second chair violinist, filling in for him, since he was the soloist, and gave the rest of the strings the tuned A. They reciprocated his notes, tuning the rest of their strings a perfect 5th apart; the brass and winds likewise tuned to the A. Once the sounds of tuning were completed, he turned to Shi-san. Trying to gaze above the heads of the audience, although really all he could see was the blinding stage lights in his face and that weird black that fills your eyes when you're in bright light, he calmed his breathing, and to his left, Shi-san began the first movement.
He had a couple of minutes to get easy with the stage, although he felt like a bit of an idiot while the rest of the orchestra was playing and he was just standing there. Finally, his entrance. He readied himself, lifting the violin to the strings, and miraculously, a clear, beautiful tone soared out of his instrument.
At the end, the audience were actually cheering. A few stood, and most of the rest of the audience followed. Momiji couldn't keep from grinning from ear to ear. There were shouts of "Bravo!". In a way, it was almost a sweeter sound than music.
At the reception afterwards, he had intended to talk to Michiko, but he found himself being surrounded. "Sohma-san, when did you begin learning music?" "Sohma-san, how old are you? I was so surprised that they'd let someone so young do that solo." "What plans do you have for the future, Sohma-san?"
Amidst all this fray, Shi-san managed to shoo them away and draw Momiji to an isolated corner. "Well done, Sohma-san. I never told you this before, but you have an excellent touch. I can see you going far."
"Arigato, sir." He decided not to tell him that he had actually said similar words to him before, remember it or not.
"Listen, boy, you really do have a gift. I don't usually tell people this, but I used to be a conductor in Germany."
"Ah, is that so?" with feigned surprise. Shi-san nodded.
"Furthermore, I have some connections in Vienna. I know a fantastic violinist there; he doesn't perform any more, but you can't get a better master for instruction. Japan is a wonderful country, boy, but when it comes to musical instruction, you can't beat Vienna. If I refer you to him, would you be willing to consider moving overseas to take instruction from this teacher?"
"Hai!" Momiji was shocked out of his socks. He hadn't expected an offer like this, not in a million years. "How shall I get in contact with him, sir?"
"I'll talk to him first. If he agrees, I'll instruct you on how to contact him. Be careful, boy, don't upset him. The best musicians can be difficult to get along with, especially in older age. That's part of genius. If you can get along with him, he will do things for you that no one else in the world will."
"Hai, sir."
When they emerged, although he was, once again, instantly surrounded by admirers, well-wishers and critics, he spotted something he'd not anticipated. Over in a corner stood his father, his mother, and Momo. Despite all the people around him, he hurriedly excused himself and rushed over to greet them.
Momo was the first to greet him, making a diving hug into his waistline. He laughed, patting her head, and then he looked up at his parents.
"Well done," his father said. "I'm glad that we're allowing our daughter to work with you. You seem like a real musician, and we can tell you're rubbing off on Momo."
"Hai," his mother said. "Very good job tonight, Momiji-kun. Why, it seems like yesterday you were just a small boy running around my husband's building, helping your friend clean."
"That was a long time ago," Momiji said, laughing and simultaneously trying to pry Momo from his waist so he could move. "Thank you very much for letting me work with your daughter. She's coming along very well. Does musicianship run in your family?"
He had to admit he'd done it out of slight vengeance, but even though his father grimaced a bit, his mother noticed nothing. "No," she said, "it seems like Momo just inherited a gift from the sky. Half the time she's talking on and on about music, and I don't understand anything she's saying." She laughed. Momiji marvelled. His mother was so beautiful when she laughed. It was hard to believe that at one time, she'd been unable to even look at him.
"Well," his father said, "we'd better be getting home. Good job tonight, once again. Come on, Momo."
Unfortunately, by the time he was able to escape the concert hall, Michiko had already left. He felt saddened by it, but brightened up a bit. After all, he could just call her when he got back to his apartment, right?
New Years approached, and the night Yuki arrived, gladly accepting to stay at Momiji's for a couple of days (rather than risk the horrors of Ayame's), it snowed heavily, covering the ground with white. Yuki spent a couple of hurried moments with his cousin before excusing himself to make a call.
"Ah, she's coming," he said, hanging up. "I hope you don't mind if my girlfriend comes over, Momiji."
"Iie," he said, smiling.
"I hope we can get out there before the snow melts," his cousin continued, deep in thought. "I made a promise a couple of years ago. I'm going to fulfill it no matter what."
Momiji was a tad confused. He switched the subject. "Have you spoken to Haru recently?" he asked.
Yuki sighed, his good mood deflated for the moment. "Hai," he answered. "I heard that Rin is pregnant, and also that they aren't getting along right now. It doesn't make sense. Haru is usually so patient with Rin. Why all the anxiety right now?"
"He's nervous. Or maybe their relationship isn't as strong as they thought."
Yuki laughed. "Momiji, when did you get to be an expert on relationships?"
"Since I met Tohru."
Yuki looked up, startled. "What are you saying, Momiji?"
"You and I are the same, you know. We both wanted something. That something was meant for someone else."
Yuki frowned. "You're joking. You...liked Honda-san?"
"Hai. And not like a sister. Or a friend. Boku wa honto ni..." He sighed, looking down. But then he brightened.
"But you've moved on, right, Yuki? You have someone you adore now. Someone you love. And I, too..."
Yuki's mouth dropped open. "Honto ni?" He smiled. "That's fantastic, Momiji! I'm very happy for you."
"Mm, I'm happy for me, too." They both laughed. Then Yuki rushed to the window. Outside, looking up, was a girl with dark hair and slightly vacant eyes. A smile spread over his face faster than any delight Momiji had witnessed Yuki experience before. "Shitsureishimasu," he said, and ran out the door.
Momiji watched out the window as Yuki ran across the fresh snow to Machi, picked her up and twirled her around. Then they kissed. It was a sweet kiss, a trusting kiss. But Momiji never did figure out what the two of them did afterwards. They walked around and around in the snow, leaving footprints everywhere they could.
Sore ha: that is...
Genkan: entry way
Getabako: place for shoes
Washitsu: Japanese style room
Tokonoma: decorative alcove
Nengajo: New Year's card
